Innocence Needs Protecting
by Evnissyn
Summary: [Oneshot] “… I love my life at the Social Welfare Agency very much …” In the aftermath of the hotel assassination, during which Emilio is killed, Rico is made to forget that she was ever on that mission …


DISCLAIMER: Neitheranime nor manga belong to me, because if they really wer mine, I would not have to write this fanfic.

AN: This is a one-shot fanfic I've been thinking aboutand developing for almost four months now. I've never watched the anime, I've only read the books, so keep that in mind. Hope you people like it.

By the way, Aletta and Fausta are OCs - they're supposed to be two of the other cyborg girls Rico mentions in the fourth chapter of the first book. Ilari is an OC, too - he's supposed to be Aletta's handler.

Summary: There are many times when the medication erases parts of the memories of the cyborg girls. But it is a rare case when all the girls forget the same things. So how do the girls react when they find that one of them has forgotten something over the past few days? In the aftermath of the hotel assassination, during which Emilio is killed, Rico is made to forget that she was ever on that mission …

* * *

**Innocence Needs Protecting**

– – – – –

… _I love my life at the Social Welfare Agency very much …_

– – – – –

Doctor Bianchi watched as Rico slowly relaxed. The tears continued to flow, but it was no longer the unbroken stream that it had been when Jean had led him to her room. She was calmer now, more peaceful, but the fingers of her left hand dug into the pillow in front of her face, as tight as ever a fist can be.

"There," Doctor Bianchi said as he leaned back and stretched. "It's done."

Jean, who had been leaning against the bedpost, straightened. "Good," he said, and strode to the door.

"Wait." Bianchi swiftly tucked the bottle of the 'medication' into its spot in his case. The used syringe he placed in another section of the case. Then he snapped the lid shut and lifted the case off the table. "Alright, let's go."

Jean reached for the doorknob.

"Is Rico alright?" said a girl's voice on the other side of the door. Jean and Bianchi stiffened, exchanging glances.

"I don't think so. She was so quiet the entire way back."

"She'll get over it. And if she doesn't, the medication will make sure she forgets it."

"Triela!"

The door was opened from the corridor. Henrietta, Rico's roommate, stood on the other side, along with Angela and Triela, two of the other cyborgs.

For a long moment no one spoke. The girls watched the adults, and the adults watched the girls, both sides silent, both sides waiting.

The doctor broke the silence. "Rico will be asleep for the rest of the day. She might be a little late in waking up tomorrow as well."

The girls said nothing, only shifted their attention to rest completely on the doctor. He tried not to fidget under the girls' blank stares.

Jean cleared his throat. "Excuse us, we must be going."

The girls did not move for a moment. Then, slowly, wordlessly, Henrietta swung the door open wider and stepped aside. Jean stepped forward when Henrietta got out of the way, but he stopped when only Angelica and not Triela followed Henrietta's example. Triela stayed planted squarely in front of the door.

Jean frowned slightly. "Triela –"

Triela suddenly seemed to realize that she was the only one standing there. She blinked and gave a little start, quickly stepping out of the way.

As Jean and Dr. Bianchi strode out of the room and down the corridor, the three girls said not a word and moved not a step. But Dr. Bianchi could feel the girls' eyes boring a hole through his back.

There really was no need for the girls to speak, he thought. Their silent gazes, filled with accusation and anguish, were more eloquent than anything they could have said.

– – – – –

The girls watched the two men until they turned a corner and disappeared from their line of vision. Then the girls filed into the room and gathered around Rico's bed.

"So," Triela said after a long moment of silence. "I'll be visiting Elsa today."

Angelica shot Triela a somewhat surprised glance, but Henrietta spoke up first. "Would you mind if I asked you to visit Aletta for me?"

Triela shrugged. "Not at all. I'll go see Aletta later."

As Triela turned to go, Angelica latched onto her arm. "I'll tell Claes?" Angelica asked

Triela turned a blank face toward the other cyborg. "Go 'head. I'll have enough to do trying to find Aletta and Elsa."

Both Triela and Angelica ambled out of the room, leaving Henrietta to wonder how much Rico will have changed by the time she woke up.

– – – – –

Angelica trotted down the corridor of dormitories, peeking into the rooms. Not that she expected to find anyone there at that time of day. Claes would probably be in Mr. Raballo's old room – the Agency hadn't placed anyone else in that room, yet. And Fausta, Angelica's roommate, was due to return to the Agency in another hour or so from a personal day with her handler. All in all, Angelica was sure that neither of the people she was looking for would be in their rooms.

But she still went through the motions of searching.

"Angelica?"

Angelica glanced over her shoulder. "Fausta! You're back early!"

Fausta smiled. "Yup! Anyway, did Henrietta, Rico, and Triela come back yet?"

The smile Angelica wore suddenly became very, very difficult to continue wearing. "Yeah, they're back, but Rico … Rico's … sleeping."

Fausta's face paled, but she kept her tone and expression cheerful. "She must have been tired."

Angelica nodded. "Yeah. I don't think she'll be able to wake up for dinner. She probably won't even be able to get up for breakfast tomorrow."

Fausta's laugh would have convinced all of the handlers and adults of the Social Welfare Agency, but the cyborgs themselves would never be fooled. After all, every cyborg had laughed the same kind of laugh more than once before – the kind of laugh used to hide the fear unique to those under the influence of 'conditioning'. "Too bad!" Fausta said. "Much too bad."

– – – – –

That night, Henrietta sat down at the table in her room, laying the diary Giuseppe had given her on the table before her. She opened to the page she'd bookmarked, the page on which she'd written early that morning.

_Today is the day of the assassination at the hotel. We're going to dress up like maids and sneak into the hotel to kill that congressman called Mascarl or something. Only Rico, Triela, and me are going, which is kind of sad. Angelica really wanted to go._

_Anyway, Rico is the one who's going to do the actual shooting. Triela and I are just part of the clean-up crew. I really envy Rico._

Henrietta sighed as she read over the short entry. She lifted her head to gaze at Rico's sleeping form. She looked down at the diary entry. She flipped her pencil around so that the eraser end hovered over the page.

Then she hesitated. "No," she said to herself. "Not yet. Tomorrow."

She flipped her pencil around again, this time so that the point hovered over the page.

_The trip back was quiet. Rico didn't say much and Triela was napping. I was sleeping, too, really. But I don't think Rico slept at all._

Laying down her pencil, she said to herself, "I'll erase it all tomorrow."

And she climbed into her bed, easily pushing away worry and anxiety both, putting herself to sleep. She'd had much practice on doing so during her time at the Social Welfare Agency. All the cyborgs had had more than enough practice.

– – – – –

Dr. Bianchi was wrong about one thing. Rico woke up the same time she always did.

Henrietta peeked over the edge of her bunk (she slept in the top bunk) when she heard the telltale creaking of the mattress on the bed below. "Good morning, Rico!" she said cheerfully.

Rico didn't react as fast as she usually did – a telltale sign of conditioning. Henrietta caught Rico staring amazedly at her hands, something Rico did every day. But this time … Henrietta wondered if Rico was thinking about how the hands she was so thankful for had been the hands that had pulled the trigger of a gun aimed at the heart of a hotel porter.

Rico looked up. "Good morning, Henrietta!"

Henrietta scrambled down the ladder that led to the top bunk. "How are you feeling?" she asked carefully.

Rico smiled. "I'm feeling fine. But what are we going to do today? Do we have any last minute training before tomorrow's mission?"

Henrietta frowned worriedly, but on the inside she breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God she forgot about the mission. "The mission was finished yesterday, Rico."

Rico looked up startled. "What?"

Henrietta did some quick thinking. "You got sick two nights before the mission, Rico. You spent two days in Dr. Bianchi's care and when he said you would be fine, Jean brought you back to the dormitory. Remember?"

Rico frowned. "No…"

Henrietta shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Well, so long as you're alright."

As Henrietta hurried out of the room, she saw out of the corner of her eyes Rico frowning worriedly, gazing in confusion as her hands, as if wondering if it was something that they'd done.

– – – – –

Giuseppe was one of only four handlers to eat his meals in the cyborgs' cafeteria.

He always arrived there early on the day after a mission – he never slept well the nights before and after a mission he had to take part in.

But no matter what, it was a rare day when anyone besides the cooks got to the cafeteria earlier than him. Somehow, though, on this day where he woke up earlier than usual, he found that he was the third to get to the cafeteria.

"Henrietta. Triela. I didn't know you girls got up this early."

"Good morning, Giuseppe!" Henrietta smiled up at him, but, for some reason, Giuseppe felt that she did not want to talk to him – a rare feeling these days.

Giuseppe sat down at the table beside the one at which Henrietta and Triela were sitting. As he began to eat, the two girls went back to their conversation, occasionally casting nervous looks at him. Curious, Giuseppe decided to eavesdrop.

"So, what was I saying?" Henrietta asked.

"The mission."

"Oh, yeah. Well, anyway …." Henrietta glanced side-long at Giuseppe. "It's just too bad, isn't it?" she said, raising her voice slightly. Giuseppe could have sworn that she knew he was listening. "That Rico was too sick to go on the mission."

Giuseppe frowned. Rico? Sick? Rico had been in perfect health when they'd gone on the mission. What was Henrietta talking about?

He glanced over at where Triela was sitting. Triela had her arms and legs crossed, pointedly not looking at Giuseppe. She didn't seem at all shocked at how blatantly Henrietta was lying.

"Yes," Triela said. "It really was too bad. She even missed out on the day of training before the mission. She just slept for two days straight, right?"

Henrietta nodded. "Yes, that's right. But Dr. Bianchi said last night that she should be fine when she wakes up today."

"Did she wake up yet?"

Henrietta nodded again. "Yeah. And she's perfectly fine now." Henrietta suddenly turned to Giuseppe. "I just hope she doesn't get sick again," she said, directing her words at Triela, but still looking at Giuseppe.

Giuseppe closed his eyes, and saw, in his mind's eye, the hotel porter lying dead in a hallway with a bullet in his heart; Rico falling to her knees, slowly turning the gun over and over in her hand, whispering about one last bullet; Henrietta rushing over, taking the gun from Rico; Rico looking up with a strange feeling in her eyes – a feeling that Giuseppe didn't recognize until now.

She really had been sick, Giuseppe realized. Heartsick.

Giuseppe stood up and walked away, leaving behind a plate of mostly untouched spaghetti. He had better spread the 'news' about Rico's '48-hour sickness' among the other handlers and adults.

– – – – –

Triela poked her head into the room she shared with Claes. The lights were shut, the beds neat, chairs pushed up against the table, everything spick-and-span.

Dang! She wasn't there. Had she already left for breakfast?

"Looking for Claes?" a voice said from behind her.

Triela whirled about, her long hair whipping around and lashing into her face. Her elbow knocked against the doorjamb, sending a shock of pain up to her shoulder. "What? Oh," she said when she saw who it was. "Yes, I am, Lauro."

"She's down at the outside shooting range."

Triela bowed slightly. "Thank you." Then she hurried into the room to grab an excuse to see Claes.

– – – – –

Henrietta glanced at the clock in her and Rico's room. Rico was still at breakfast and Henrietta had about ten minutes before she had to go to the indoor shooting range for today's practice. Just enough time, she thought as she opened her diary in her lap.

_Today is the day of the assassination at the hotel. We're going to dress up like maids and sneak into the hotel to kill that congressman called Mascarl or something. Only Rico, Triela, and me are going, which is kind of sad. Angelica really wanted to go._

_Anyway, Rico is the one who's going to do the actual shooting. Triela and I are just part of the clean-up crew. I really envy Rico._

_The trip back was quiet. Rico didn't say much and Triela was napping. I was sleeping, too, really. But I don't think Rico slept at all._

Henrietta sighed as she read over the entry. She lifted her head to gaze at Rico's rumpled bed. She looked down at the diary entry. She flipped her pencil around so that the eraser end hovered over the page. Then, slowly, Henrietta began erasing and rewriting parts of the entry.

_Today is the day of the assassination at the hotel. We're going to dress up like maids and sneak into the hotel to kill that congressman called Mascarl or something. Only Triela and me are going, which is kind of sad. Angelica really wanted to go._

_Anyway, Triela is the one who's going to do the actual shooting while I'm just part of the clean-up crew. I really envy Triela._

_The trip back was quiet. Triela didn't say much and I was napping. I don't think Triela slept at all._

Henrietta laid down her pencil and reread the entry again. "Perfect," she whispered.

A tear leaked out of her right eye. It ran slowly down her face, pausing on her cheekbone, rushing down past the corner of her mouth, and finally falling directly on the word 'Triela' in the first paragraph. Henrietta automatically wiped the tear away before it could soak into the page.

– – – – –

There were three of the girls on the shooting range when Triela got to there. Claes and Angela were chatting on the side. Elsa was preparing to put away her gun.

Triela walked up to the dark-haired pair, a determined look on her face.

"Oh, hello, Triela," Angela said.

"Hi," Triela replied. Then she thrust the book she carried at Claes. "Thanks for lending it to me **yesterday**." She raised her voice on the last word, just enough so that Elsa could hear.

Angela started, then began to fiddle nervously with a few strands of her hair.

Claes calmly accepted the book, silent even though Triela had really borrowed it a week ago.

Elsa, who had been about to take apart her gun, looked up sharply. Claes, Triela, and Angela were not surprised when she padded over to where the three were standing, something the loner of the eleven cyborgs would never have done in a normal situation. They each gave Elsa a small smile then turned their attention back to Triela.

"Was it good?" Claes asked, choosing her words carefully.

A casual passerby would have thought she was referring to the book. In reality, none of the girls were thinking about books.

"It was bad," Triela said, getting straight to the point. "**Really** bad."

Angela kept quiet about how Triela had said only a few days ago that it was one of the best books she'd ever read.

"The author drags out the story so long; I **couldn't remember** what the characters were doing on a **day-to-day basis**."

Elsa's eyes flicked over the title. _Just So Stories_, by Rudyard Kipling. She'd read the book once. She didn't remember much besides that it was a collection of _short_ stories.

"Really? It was that bad?" Angela asked intently.

"Uh-huh. By the time I got to the** third day**, I'd already **forgotten** what happened on the **first day**."

At this point, Elsa trotted back to where she'd left her gun case. None of the other girls batted an eye at her abrupt departure, even though this would have normally counted as rude. No one stopped her, no one asked her where she was going. After all, everything that was important had already been said. Staying would have been pointless.

– – – – –

Rico wandered down the walkway that led from the cyborg cafeteria to the dormitory. She walked very slowly, she didn't really want to go back to dormitory. Henrietta and the others had been acting strangely around her, before and during breakfast. As if she was an outsider.

An outsider. That had never happened before. Never. They'd always welcomed her in their midst. But this morning … Why was everyone acting so strangely? Why were they pushing her away?

Rico wanted to bury her face in her hands and cry as she had never done since gaining full use of her body almost three years ago.

"Rico?"

Rico almost jumped right out of her skin. "What? Oh, good morning, Jean."

"How are you feeling this morning?" Jean asked, his voice as gruff and commanding as usual.

Rico shrugged. "I'm fine, but –" she bit down on the rest of the sentence. No, it would be better not to tell Jean.

Jean rested a hand on Rico's shoulder. "Are you sure? I have to know, because if you didn't have enough of the medication la–"

"Jean!" Giuseppe's voice suddenly intruded. Rico caught a glimpse of Giuseppe's almost panicked expression before the handler could control expression. "Jean, I have to talk to you about something," Giuseppe added, and before Rico or Jean could say anything, Giuseppe was almost dragging Jean away from where Rico was standing, confused and hurt.

– – – – –

Jean shook off his brother's hand the moment Giuseppe stopped, just within the doors of Section 2 HQ. "What were you thinking, Giuseppe?" he snapped

Giuseppe shook his head. "What were _you_ thinking?" he returned. "Don't you know the results of overdoses of the 'medication'? The girls _forget_. That's why we use it so much on them to make them recover."

Jean glowered at Giuseppe. "I know that!"

"Then start acting like it!"

Jean blinked at Giuseppe's ferocity. His brother was rarely pushed to the point of losing his temper like this. "What are you talking about? What do you mean by that?"

"Don't mention anything at all about the time Rico has forgotten," he answered. "Pretend that during that time, she was ill, ill enough to have been in a fever for days, to have slept through most of that time."

"And what would that accomplish?"

Giuseppe studied Jean's face. "Never mind," Giuseppe said at last. "Just, please, for the girls' sakes, please do not mention much from the past. As little as possible. If you're not going to pay attention to what the girls are saying about each other, then, please, don't say anything about the past. Past few days, past few years, it doesn't matter. Just don't speak of it in front of the girls."

– – – – –

Aletta trailed behind Rico.

Far behind, of course. Aletta didn't want Rico to know she was being followed.

But then Jean came over to talk with Rico. Aletta tensed. She had always been uncertain whether or not the adults were aware of the 'charades' the girls always 'played' when one of the girls 'forgot', but Aletta knew for sure that Jean was as insightful about the whole thing as he was caring about Rico – in other words, not at all.

Aletta rushed up to where the pair of fratello were standing, almost panicking as she heard Jean mention the medication.

Giuseppe suddenly seemed to appear from thin air and he – thank god! – pulled Jean away before he could do any damage.

Aletta slowed to a walk as she watched the two handlers leave. What was all that about? Did Giuseppe know about the 'charades'?

And if he did, was that a bad thing?

"'Morning, Rico."

Rico jumped again. "Oh, 'morning, Aletta."

"How are you feeling today? I didn't know you were sick until yesterday afternoon when Ilari and me came back."

Rico shrugged despondently. "I'm feeling well, but why is everyone avoiding me as if I have the plague?"

Aletta chuckled. "You're imagining things, Rico. No one's avoiding you." Aletta paused, pursing her lips. "Actually, I think Elsa really _is_ avoiding you – but then, she avoids all of us."

Aletta was rewarded with a burst of laughter from Rico. "Yeah, you're right," Rico said. "I must be imagining things."

Aletta glanced at her watch and feigned surprise. "Drat! I've got to go, Rico. Ilari said to meet him in the classroom at nine – I'm gonna be late."

Aletta ran off, knowing that she had left Rico feeling left out and avoided again. It wasn't her fault, Aletta reasoned to herself. Not her fault at all. She really did have to meet Ilari in the classroom – at nine-thirty though, not nine.

The real reason for Aletta's abrupt leaving was what Rico had said about avoiding. There were always periods of time when one of the cyborgs thought everyone was avoiding her. Aletta herself could recall two or three such times for sure, when, wherever she went for a day or two, the other girls and several of the adults would stop talking or else go out of their way to not speak or look at her.

The realization that this sense of being avoided was … was the result of the same thing that everyone was doing now to 'protect' Rico …

The way the system worked, this system designed to protect the 'innocence' of the girls, was entirely based on the half-doubted, can't-be-doubted belief that there had never been such a situation before – that never before had there been lost memories among the girls. After all, the whole charade was meant to give at least the appearance of forgetting the same things as the forgetter.

But it all depended on believing that the system had never been used for oneself. If one found out that the system had been used one's benefit, then, in the future, one would never be able to survive the period during which everyone was busy 'forgetting' what one had forgotten.

Aletta could feel her head begin to burst trying to avoid thinking about it.

Slowly, she forced her mind to forget. Because if she didn't forget …

"Hell, they can find someone else to tail Rico," Aletta hissed through clenched teeth. "I'm never doing it again!"

But deep in the bottom of her mechanical heart, she knew that she would, someday, forget this vow, and end up doing exactly the same thing.

– – – – –

It was several days before anything Rico said really threatened the new reality the entire of Section 2 was covertly working to hold up.

– – – – –

Rico watched as Henrietta pulled out her violin case. Not the gun-case-shaped-like-a-violin-case, but an actual violin case, with a real violin in it. Giuseppe had given it to her a few months ago.

Rico listened to Henrietta play etudes, the only thing she really knew how to play, and thought about what Emilio would say if Rico played etudes for him. She was completely swept away by her imagination. Maybe, when she was older and left the Social Welfare Agency, she'd go back to that hotel. Maybe she'd find Emilio still working there. It would be so nice to be able to play for him …

"Henrietta?"

Henrietta stopped playing, lowering the bow and violin. "What?"

Rico hesitated, embarrassed. "Remember Emilio? The porter at the hotel I told you about?"

Henrietta blinked. If Rico hadn't known better, she would have thought Henrietta had a guarded look on her face. "Yeah, I remember."

"Did you see him at the hotel? When you and Triela went on that mission?"

Henrietta shook her head. "No." When Rico said nothing, she continued to play, albeit much slower and with many more mistakes than before.

After ten minutes, Henrietta sighed. "I just can't focus on the notes anymore." She began to put way the musical instrument.

Now. Now was Rico's chance. Rico gathered her courage and determination. "Um … Henrietta? Could – could you teach me how to play?"

Henrietta looked up, surprised. "Of course!"

Rico beamed. "Thanks, Henrietta. Now if I get to meet Emilio again, I can play for him!"

Henrietta said nothing as she pulled out her violin again. It was as if she hadn't heard.

"Here," Henrietta handed violin and bow to Rico.

As Rico learned how to pull the bow over the violin strings in a way that wouldn't grate on the ears, she glowed inside. _If only I can show Emilio!_

– – – – –

… _I love my life at the Social Welfare Agency very much …_

* * *

AN: So how was it? 


End file.
